A Rose for a Thorn
by Axcent
Summary: Matt's insecure. He may also be superstitious enough to bet his relationship with Mello on how many petals are on each flower in a bouquet. Mello's insecure in a different way, and one of those flowers may be just what he needs.


Sometimes I like to think Mello used to be innocent...

A Rose for a Thorn

Matt was walking. Just walking, both hands buried in his pockets, head down, letting the rain dance across his back and neck, ignoring the people who hurried past him with umbrellas shielding their heads and jackets drooping around their shoulders. To anyone of these people shuffling around the L.A. streets, Matt would have looked like any other person, someone with a strange habit of wearing orange tinted goggles, sure, but seeing people pacing with a pained look etched across their features was not so unusual. Besides, most people were so preoccupied they didn't notice a solitary redhead passing the same shops again and again, drenched to the bone. No one really cared.

And that was exactly how he felt. After sitting alone in his dreary apartment for almost a month, his mood had drifted closer and closer towards depression. He had started to wonder if Mello really ever cared about him. After all, if the blonde could disappear for weeks, what must Matt really matter to him? His job must have been so much more important. Was Matt that hard to be around?

Matt passed the Laundromat again, glanced in the rain streaked window, and kept walking. Several people were in there, sitting on rickety chairs and reading newspapers. It looked some sort of bright, yellow walled social club. Needless to say, Matt never went to the Laundromat.

Next, Matt already knew, was a small, torn up bakery that was rarely frequented by the people of L.A. This was the precise reason why Matt sometimes bought bread or muffins there when he was tired of ramen and Mello wasn't around to force feed him proper meals.

Then was the flower shop, a large, glassy affair with the words "Marian's" in huge spiralled letters across the door. Matt didn't like even passing this place, as it was the one where most people stopped on the street, the other shops forgotten. In the windows stood giant, fancy bouquets done up in ribbons. Mello always laughed at this shop, as well as the people who went there. Matt stopped, pulled one of his hands out of his pocket, and brushed a strand of wet red hair away from his face, staring at the people inside the shop gushing over large arrangements of roses. The lovers' flower: a symbol of affection. Matt scrunched up his face; put his hand back into the depths of his jeans pocket. That's what he thought he had with Mello.

With a sigh, Matt pushed open the shop door, scowled at the tinkling bell that announced his entrance, pushed past all the people, grabbed a small, inexpensive bouquet of red roses, and slammed them down on the counter in front of a bored looking teenager with a fake, sugary smile.

"That'll be 23.99." She had said; looking startled at Matt's actions. Several rose petals lay scattered across the counter.

Matt handed her the change, exactly, and left the store quickly, glaring at the flowers in his hand. He didn't know why he'd been so motivated to buy them. Mello sure didn't like roses, and Mello wasn't around, anyway.

With a sigh, Matt ran a finger over one of the soft petals, surprised by how impulsively he had acted, and how angry he felt. He flipped his finger over and plucked the pedal off the rose, blinking quickly. He loves me. He picked off another petal, and let it fall to the pavement, under the feet of the masses swarming past him. He loves me not. That sounded true to Matt. Another petal, he loves me. Another. He loves me not.

By the time Matt had reached his apartment door, one rose stood alone among its companions, the only one that was still decorated with scarlet petals, their velveteen surfaces dotted with rain. Matt opened the door, his head still low, and his eyes never leaving the lonely flower.

"I didn't expect you to be out."

Matt's head snapped up, his eyes coming back into focus, his mind reeling to reality. Seated on the couch, his head in his hands, sat Mello, a certain sadness etched onto his face, pain crouched behind the hardness of his eyes.

"I didn't expect you back." Matt responded, a blush creeping across his cheeks. Mello always left him like this, frazzled, a little embarrassed. He plucked the first petal from the last flower. He loves me.

"Matt..." Mello's voice was softer than usual. He stood and sighed. His gaze was still scrutinizing, his X-ray vision was obviously not impaired by his strange mood. Matt felt like he was being examined from the inside out.

Another rose petal fell to the floor. He loves me not.

Mello moved across the living room in the way he always moved, quickly, gracefully, and threw his arms around Matt's shoulders, half giving comfort, half seeking in the warmth of Matt's body. For Mello, still terribly young in the opinion of most, had come back from his first real Mafia mission; the one that would decide whether he was truly devoted or not. Mello had killed a man. A man with deep, soulful eyes and a strange grimace; a man who had done nothing to offend Mello at all. And while Matt felt abandoned and forgotten and unloved, Mello felt like his head had been splattered in blood. The first and last person he wanted to tell about this crime was his boyfriend, so he had hidden out, trying to come to terms with himself, in a hotel as far away as he could bear to be.

"I guess I got you this." Matt said softly when Mello stepped back, the blonde's face still a mask, his true emotions hidden so skilfully.

Another petal was ripped off. He loves me.

Mello took Matt's hands in his own, released the rose from the redhead's death grip, and took it from him.

"Thanks Matt. It means a lot."


End file.
